


impulse control (or, how thomas blake kind of gets a boyfriend)

by kalesmay



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Secret Six
Genre: First Kiss, Get Together, M/M, listen I just love the six and catshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 19:09:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12065211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalesmay/pseuds/kalesmay
Summary: The urge to kiss him hits Thomas like a ton of bricks, and no one has ever lauded his impulse control.





	impulse control (or, how thomas blake kind of gets a boyfriend)

**Author's Note:**

> i love the six and especially these two and there's not nearly enough content? anyway here's some catshot i'm @deathstrokes on tumblr

 

Floyd's not even doing anything, really, just sitting on the passenger side of the car during some stake-out that they're only half paying attention to. For them, that's enough. He's opening and closing the center console and glove box, looking in vain for the pack of cigarettes that Thomas threw out after the last time they were in the car. Thomas is supposed to be watching the entrance to the building, but instead he's watching Floyd; his stupid mustache and the dark hair that's just long enough to curl. Low neon lights from the club across the street shine on Floyd's face, bathing him in red. Thomas has never been more enamored, and he doesn't generally _do_ enamored.

It's not like it was with Jade, a whirlwind physical thing just because they could, and shouldn't, or with Huntress, who liked Thomas’ potential more than anything. It's not that Thomas has never liked men before, because he had, but he's never known anyone quite like Floyd, which is probably a good thing -- for Thomas’ mental well being, and everyone else's. Any more than one Floyd Lawton, and it would be an international crisis. Thomas doesn't like to share, anyway -- he likes having one Floyd all to himself. He's territorial like that.

Floyd, who still hasn't stopped trying to put one between Lady Vic’s eyes for endangering his family, who pretends everything he does isn't a move calculated to look indifferent while being anything but, who pretends to not even _have_ friends. For Floyd, there is death and his daughter and he’d shoot anyone that would try to make them intersect.

He's grumpy and lethal and a terminal chain smoker, and Thomas thinks he's in love with him.

"Lawton. _Lawton_ ," Thomas repeats, to no avail. Floyd doesn't look up, just grunts as he rummages around for a carton of cigarettes. He finally finds a singular smoke, crumpled but still intact, and holds it between his teeth, patting his pockets for a lighter. " _Floyd_!" At the use of his first name, Floyd finally faces him, eyebrows slanted and cigarette hanging out of his mouth, still unlit. Thomas plucks it out from between his lips, muffling Floyd's outraged noise with his own mouth. Floyd's protesting stops almost immediately, for at least 3 blessed seconds.

The hand that had made its way to the base of Thomas' skull never leaving, Floyd pulls back and mumbles against Thomas' cheek, "Could'a just asked nicely, Tomcat. Didn't have to take a fellas smoke." Thomas groans.

"Do you _ever_ not complain?"

Floyd laughs, nicotine breath fanning across Thomas' face. He finally pulls back, dark eyes searching Blake's own for something. "On occasion, ace. Now, tell me, what'd you go and do a fool thing like that for?"

And, really, Thomas didn't have a good answer for that. He's all animal instinct and possessiveness, and he wanted Floyd, stupid haircut and all. Thomas flicks the shell of Floyd’s ears, endearingly large, sticking out from under his hair. Floyd hisses out a laugh, grabbing Thomas’ offensive hand with his own and jerking away. “Cut that out, Cat, god _damn_.”

In retaliation, Floyd blows a puff of air into Thomas’ bangs, spreading the hair there and making the strands tickle his eyes. Thomas ducks down, laughing. He forgets Floyd can be like this, childish and fun and not caught up in some self destructive spiral. Just for the reminder, Thomas shoots forward and kisses him again; a quick, sweet little thing pressed to the corner of Floyd’s half grin. Floyd still looks bemused, eyebrow cocked and brown eyes light. He doesn't look like he’s planning on punching Thomas, which is a damn sight better than he expected.

“You gonna kiss me again, or can I have that smoke back?” Floyd’s finger taps the rim of the cupholder where the lone cigarette Thomas cast aside is, crumpled and pathetic looking. In response, Thomas surges forward again and puts his hands on either side of Floyd’s face, intense and warm and pleading for him to choose Thomas over a slow death via nicotine. Floyd responds in kind, weaving his fingers in Thomas’ shaggy hair and tugging him closer. Thomas leans into the touch, smile threatening to spread on his face. It's not that he's cheesy, or anything. It was just worth the wait.

Floyd leans back just enough to catch his breath and look down at Thomas’ mouth, which is split into a barely there grin, and huffs what someone else might almost call a laugh. “Somethin’ funny, sport?” Thomas rolls his eyes and sits back in his seat.

“No, it's just...nothing, don't worry about it.” For a second, it looks like Floyd is going to call his bluff, but instead he averts his gaze to our Thomas’ window, already reaching for his door handle.

“Good, because there's our guy. C’mon, Blake.”

They're both infinitely more in their element now, finishing a job, fists and bullets and blades. Neither of them are really cut out for heart to hearts, which suits the both of them just fine.

Later, though, sitting in front of the obscenely large fireplace in the House, they talk. Floyd is sewing up a gash in Thomas’ side, cigarette hanging idly out of his mouth, making faces when Thomas winces. Thomas hisses when he cuts the thread and places a bandage over it, jerking away when Floyd presses it down. Floyd laughs, sitting back on his haunches and rubbing at a scratch on his bare chest, blood still flaking on the dark hair.

“We gonna talk about it?” Thomas asks, brazen, because the only thing that works with Floyd is catching him off guard. It does the trick -- Floyd looks startled, brown eyes wide, eyebrows raised. He schools his face into a carefully neutral expression, putting everything back into the first aid kit.

“Dunno, do we have to?”

“I mean, we should. It would be nice?”

Floyd snorts. “ _Nice_. Alright, Tomcat, whaddaya wanna talk about?”

Thomas sighs. He had underestimated Floyd’s ability to be an emotionally repressed pain, an egregious oversight on his part. “I kissed you.”

“Yeah,” Floyd makes an amused and patronizing face, like Thomas floundering about a feelings talk is the funniest thing in the world. “I was there.”

“Am I allowed to do it again?”

“D’you wanna?

“See, _now_ you're just being difficult,” Thomas says plaintively, but Floyd meets him halfway, and they both decide to ignore the fact that Scandal, ‘Doll, and Bane are standing in the doorway; it's better for everyone that way.

“This is an intrusion of their privacy,”

“Really? I find it most arousing and enjoyable!”

“Sometimes, you worry me, Merkel.”

“Oh, _joy_!” 


End file.
